


Fire the fancy and quicken the blood

by aboutbunnies



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1611923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aboutbunnies/pseuds/aboutbunnies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Language lessons by Ianto. Just a bit of lighthearted fun, the kind Jack and Ianto like to have, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire the fancy and quicken the blood

Turnabout's fair play, which is how a thoroughly satisfied Ianto ends up kneeling between Jack's knees, his pinstriped trousers still hanging open and the length of Jack in his mouth.

Ianto, as it turns out, has a filthy mouth when it gets right down to it. He likes to utilize it especially when giving head – because as much as Jack likes to hear the round Welsh vowels of Ianto's foul, lewd utterances, Jack _loves_ to feel the wet heat of them surrounding him, pulsing around him, while Ianto's fingertips dig sharp into the skin at his hips.

Of course, Jack also loves the sound of his own voice. Which is no secret, really, but it still sometimes surprises Ianto. So it is: Jack tugs on his hair, abruptly, making him glance up.

“Why don't you ever speak Welsh?”

Ianto mutters something that sounds like a garbled “Fuck off, Jack,” and gets back to business, tightens his fingers on Jack's hips and swirls his tongue around him again. Usually the only sure-fire way to shut him up.

It doesn't work this time. “No, come on, why don't you speak it?” A grin, wide. “It'd be hot.” Ianto's confident Jack is the only person, perhaps in the universe, who can look so smug and self-assured while his pupils are blown with arousal. Ianto growls a little in irritation and sucks once more before pulling off of Jack's penis with a pop of released suction. Jack groans, just briefly, but manages to keep the grin (of course).

“I don't _know_ any Welsh,” Ianto insists, a bit grumpily. Jack's (he suspects halfway deliberate) ignorance of this place he's chosen to live is maddening at times. Ianto nips at the captain's erection, his tongue flicking out. “Ianto ydw i,” he finally concedes, “Sut wyt ti?” - the extent of his recall of Welsh lessons in school, just to shut him up.

It works, kind of. Jack thrusts his hips forward and returns his hands to Ianto's hair, encouraging. “Bless those Welsh vowels.” Ianto takes him in his mouth again, rewarding.

Then, slyly, his lips curling around Jack, “You never want to go to a rugby match with me.” Suck, pressure, his mouth forming an 'o' – bless those Welsh vowels, indeed, and he feels Jack agree in the way he feels fingers tighten in his hair. “Pity,” he continues, voice slurred around Jack's length. “You'd hear me sing the anthem, at least.”

Jack's hips jerk forward again and Ianto's voice cuts off around a half-cough. And then – oh, and then, he realizes (too late) mentioning rugby, and singing, had been a mistake.

“Oh,” says Jack, sounding delighted and far too composed for Ianto's liking, “I think I know that one.”

And Jack starts singing. He's got the tune all wrong, and the pronunciation even worse, and Ianto pulls off of him again, abruptly. He looks up helplessly at Jack, ready to be irritated. He sees his flushed cheeks and swollen lips, mouth absolutely butchering the _national anthem_ , of all things. And Ianto does the only thing he can do:

He throws his head back and laughs.

\-----

Jack loves Ianto's filthy mouth even more when he's laughing. This is a new realization, and one that surprises him. Jack groans, stops the singing mid-phrase, and touches Ianto's face, traces his laughing lips.

He ends up having to jerk himself off because Ianto's laughing too hard to do it himself, and he'd be slightly disappointed by that, except as he watches the young man – the open abandon with which he laughs, the rare, unshadowed joy on his face – Jack comes, suddenly, with a groan and a laugh on his own lips.

They clean each other up and kiss messily in the aftermath, all hands and tongues and teeth and breath. And Ianto whispers low in his ear, so it'd sound like a seduction were it not for the laughter still in his voice: “I'll get us tickets to the rugby. And you can't say no.”

Jack doesn't say no. Ianto's mouth makes sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is, according to Wikipedia, one line of a “free translation in verse” of the Welsh national anthem, _Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau_.
> 
> Ianto's Welsh phrases are, merely, “My name is Ianto,” and “How are you?” Thanks to the lovely people at [](http://dw-britglish.livejournal.com/profile)[**dw_britglish**](http://dw-britglish.livejournal.com/) for assisting. Any mistakes are my own.


End file.
